


no works like thy works

by lebelinconnu



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: M/M, Office Blow Jobs, Religion Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-18
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-25 08:42:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16657852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lebelinconnu/pseuds/lebelinconnu
Summary: among the gods there is none like unto thee, O Lord; neither are there any works like unto thy works.





	no works like thy works

People made gods out of everything. It was an instinct older than language, older than the ability to look in a fractured reflection on water and know "that is me." They deified and worshipped and praised, and that instinct had followed them down all the many wandering millennia of their existence. Warren Kepler had no need for gods, he told himself, and knew it for a lie. Perhaps a better phrasing was that he had no need for churches. 

His sanctuary was a gleaming office of wood and steel, and his altar was a pristine chair. Here, hands laid flat against the thighs of another man, he prayed. Warren couldn't say his god asked little of him; no, he demanded everything. Every breath, every thought, every violent impulse, held barely in check by the weight of Marcus Cutter's hand on his neck, belonged to the Lord, his God. 

It was a good deal. He'd been shaped and polished, all imperfections and flaws burnished away under Cutter's careful guidance. There remained nothing weak inside him. He imagined that this is what it must feel like to be an angel, a divine weapon, meant only to serve and to burn and to spread ruin in his holy cause. 

A hand tangled in his hair pulls taut, warning him against letting his attention drift. It drags him forward sharply and he nearly chokes, before realigning himself. Would that he could currently sing his god's praises, he thought. If only his his throat were not so full. Instead, he pulled him in as deep as he could, swallowing around him, and thriving on the sharp sensation of nails against his scalp. 

Honey sweet words drift down towards him, cajoling and taunting him all at once, praising his obedience and challenging him to do better, to be better. Obligingly, Warren pushed himself further, closer, feeling his forehead touch the hot skin of Cutter's stomach. 

If he were another man, he might moan, might spread his own thighs and make a show of needing Cutter, needing to be in him, or needing Cutter in him. He's not another man. All these petty, little things they'd done before, played through the gamut of lust, and worship, and begging. It was an old game, a tired game. He knew better than to rehash something Cutter had grown tired of. 

He also knew better than to move his hands from Cutter's thighs. It was a difficult impasse. Can't break the rules, can't find the way out of the labyrinth. He had to be creative. A hand pulled at his hair again, and the honeyed words turned coolly impatient. Only just, only the barest drop of temperature; a tiny crack in the mask, one might say. 

The game shifted, suddenly and without warning, hips moving forward and Cutter's other hand wrapping around his throat. It was just enough to choke, just the right amount of pressure to leave his vision swimming with stars. He felt like air was passing from his throat straight through to Cutter's hand, weaving through layers of skin and sinew as though they were nothing but ephemeral mist. Warren did the only thing he could do in this situation; he moaned around him, hoarse with the effort. 

It ran completely counterpoint to everything he'd already decided he wouldn't do, ran dangerously close to out-of-bounds, but that was the way of things with Cutter. He'd push, and push, and push you until your back was against the window and you had no choice but to fall and hope he'd catch you. He'd never dropped Warren yet. 

The hand around his neck clenched, forcing his throat closed. Hips moved faster, and Warren did all he could to provide as much pleasure as he could. He hummed and swallowed around Cutter, his own hands tightening on the other man's thighs. The momentum rose, rose, rose- and broke, and Warren took it all without complaint. 

After, his own legs shaking despite his seated position, he laid his head against Cutter's thigh. Soon, he knew, he'd be expected to clean up his superior and get back to work, but for now- for these few, precious seconds, he could bask in his god's afterglow. It was enough.


End file.
